


Invisible

by RiaTheDreamer



Series: S15 Missing Scenes [10]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Self-Reflection, Walter Henderson is an actual rvb character, s15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23013322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaTheDreamer/pseuds/RiaTheDreamer
Summary: Walter Henderson after Outpost 17-B Valhalla.Who is Walter Henderson? Walter Henderson is a sim trooper.So is Mark Temple.And Dexter Grif.
Relationships: Dexter Grif & Mark Temple
Series: S15 Missing Scenes [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/898434
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Invisible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hazk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazk/gifts).



Walter Henderson is not a criminal, he’s a survivor.

The last Red from Outpost 17-B Valhalla. Not that the color should matter (though it does, of course it does) since he’s the only survivor out of all of the simulation trooper.

That had mattered, back then. They’d interviewed him, and he’d given them the info they needed, and they’d sent off an agent, and then Walter had been escorted away, taken care of, safe, forgotten.

Because Project Freelancer had become nothing but a ruin, and in the chaos, Walter Henderson had been forgotten; because his job was already over, because he was a simulation trooper, because he no longer had a role to play.

And so Walter Henderson lived in the ruins. He was a soldier, but he had no sergeant, no officer on command to call him in for questioning or grant him another mission. No calls, no transmissions, no need for him. He scavenged old storages; some let him in, some didn’t, but he got inside either way. He kept some, he sold some, he survived.

Walter Henderson is a simulation trooper without a mission, and that is the only reason why he doesn’t shoot the Blue soldier when he suddenly appears inside his makeshift base. Walter’s finger is on the trigger though, but he blames it on old habits.

“This _must_ be confusing,” the stranger had said. “But you and I are the same. Except for the color, of course, but that doesn’t matter.”

And so Walter Henderson’s life is torn apart, and the pieces are put together by the sim trooper who smiles at him and introduces himself as Mark Temple.

“I’m here to change your life!” he says.

Walter, having been taught very well to follow orders, comes with him.

* * *

Walter had seen the _thing_ spread back in Valhalla. How soldier after soldier had lost their mind, become a shell of themselves, and as a result, death had hit hard.

It’s the same invisible force down here, Walter supposes. It’s a rage, infecting soldier after soldier as Temple tells them the truth and offers them a safe space. It’s invisible and quiet and dangerous.

There are guns in their hands, impossible to drop, and now they are given a new goal, but most importantly: a reason.

It’s fair, Walter supposes. But even the fairness doesn’t really make him want to pull the trigger.

He appreciates the new home, though. He’s always liked fish.

* * *

Walter Henderson doesn’t shoot a lot of people, even though Temple tells them that’s how it’s gotta end. But the people to shoot aren’t here yet, and instead they stand guard, waiting. Walter doesn’t mind that; he’s used to it, the waiting part.

When they get actual prisoners, there’s more to do. Not _a lot_ since they’re not allowed to talk to them or anything, but they did have that exciting chase scene, and they won, and now they had to guard the brig.

And when the intruder appears, they get to be truly busy.

In theory, at least. Walter still isn’t allowed to leave his post.

That’s why he is standing perfectly still as voices grow louder and louder.

“I know you’re not _stupid_.” That’s Temple’s familiar voice, snapping at someone. “But you’re apparently not impressed.”

“I don’t have a habit of joining gangs.” That’s a new voice, and Walter thinks he sounds somewhat smarter than his fellow sim troopers (no mention of dead baby seals or ice cream stolen from infants). The intruder, then. That’d explain why they’d been ordered not to kill the guy. “Not when they don’t even offer cannolis.”

“All I have is fish. And I’d give that to you. I’d give you everything! And you know I can offer more than those- I mean, do you still even call them friends?”

“Sorry, but I’m not into the whole, killing people for revenge. Or, you know, killing people in general. That’s sorta why I quit.”

They appear now, fellow sim troopers, standing out from the crowd in their respective cobalt and orange armor.

“Oh, but you can’t seriously call yourself a pacifist!” Temple continues, oblivious to Walter’s presence even as they stand in front of him. “Plus, I’m not offering you a soldier title. I’m offering you a whole new life.”

“Right.”

“I’ve saved people, Grif! I’ve given their lives meaning, pulled them out of the meaningless existence that the UNSC doomed them with.”

The intruder, Grif, lets out a snort. “So all the dead people. Did you save those too?”

“Cute,” Temple says so dryly that Walter’s brain automatically goes _danger, danger_. “Let me prove it to you then. Look at dear Waaaaa-“

It is the first time he is properly addressed, and so Walter stands up straight and tries not to feel offended. “Walter, sir,” he says, saluting him. “Walter Henderson.”

“And just how were you faring before I found you, Walter?”

Easy question, really. “It sucked.”

“And why?” Temple continues to ask questions. “Who made your life hell?”

“The UNSC. But mainly that weird invisible thingy-“

Temple cuts him off, “And how’s life now?”

His hands are on a gun, pointing at the orange soldier who never tries to flee. He just stares at Walter, watching the conversation unfold.

Walter, feeling the weight of their glares, shrugs. “I mean, pretty good? I was starving before and you guys had fish. And, well, I’d been used to being alone before. It’s nice not being that. Even if some of the people here are weird. But I was used to that, too.”

“But I gave you meaning, right?” Temple insists. “I gave you a reason to live, to fight-“

“I mean, yeah,” Walter shrugs again. He finds himself staring into the orange visor. “But also, I’d prefer not to fight but-“

“See!” Temple has his back turned on him in order to face Grif. But even though he isn’t looking at him, he still gestured wildly towards the guard. “I took a nobody like Watson-“

That hurts. Just a bit. “Walter, sir,” he corrects him weakly.

“-and gave him everything! And you’re just like him!”

“A nobody,” Grif says dully.

A beat pass, and Temple laughs nervously. “Well, yes. In the eyes of the UNSC-“

“Look, I honestly can’t tell if you are inviting me out or insulting me right now.”

“I’m offering you a spot on my team,” Temple tells Grif, his voice a strange mix between gentle and stern. “Let me help you by letting you help me!”

“No.” The orange helmet bounces back and forth as Grif shakes his head. “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

Temple takes one step closer, practically walking into him. His hand is resting on the gun strapped to his thigh. “Are you sure?”

Grif crosses his arms, unimpressed. “Dude, if I wasn’t disarmed, we’d be fighting until one of us died right now. ‘cause you’re the bad guy, and I’m the-“

“Hero,” Temple finishes for him, spitting out the word. It is followed by an offended snort. “You’re really calling yourself that?”

Walter, sensing a lovers’ spat or something worse, shifts the weight on his feet and awkwardly raises a hand to ask, “…am I still a part of this conversation?”

Both of the soldiers ignore him, meaning there is no one left in the room to acknowledge his presence, rendering him as important as a broken lamp in the corner. But, considering the amount of work that Walter is actually doing, that is pretty fair.

Grif presses a finger against Temple’s chest plate. “Look, all I’m saying is that I came all this way for my friends. Not for you and your ego. Or your fish. It was bland, by the way.”

Since the orange soldier is doing a shitty job of noticing how big a danger he is in, Walter watches Temple for him, noting the way his fists are shaking his sides, oh so close to the gun.

“Very well,” Temple says stiffly. “I’ll take you to your friends.”

They’ve taken two steps towards the door before Walter speaks up, “Should I stay here or-“

“You’re a guard, remember?” Temple barks. He has his pistol raised now, and he gestures towards the back of Grif’s head. “You see him again, that means he’s stupid enough to try to escape and that means you have to shoot him. _That_ ’s your job.”

* * *

As it turns out, Walter never pull that trigger. He is happy about that fact, too. He almost did, numerous times, when the alarms began to screech and everything flashed red and everyone was shooting, sim trooper against sim trooper.

So much for brotherhood, Walter supposes. Not that it surprises him. Temple had collected them all – and then they’d been divided. It isn’t the fight for the sim troopers if they had to fight fellow sim troopers, despite all the stuff that Temple had described as mere footnotes.

Walter never sees who shot him. At one point he is just minding his business, just pointing his gun at the people shooting at them, no big deal, and then he’s on the floor, crying about his blown-out kneecap.

He stays there, on the floor, in the corner of the room, even after the fighting stops, there’s a lot of yelling, and then it’s quiet.

He limps around for a bit, just checking if the dead people are really dead, and _they are_ , and so Walter Henderson is a single survivor again.

Maybe.

A lot of people left with Temple when he fled. They’re alive, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s alone. Survivor sounds a lot better than being the one left behind. But it’s just a choice of words, really.

Walter drags himself to the topside because after all the bullets that had flown through the air, he doesn’t trust the glass walls not to give up. Drowning is not a pleasant way to die from what he’s heard.

He leaves a blood trail behind him in the sand, one that was easy for Grif to notice and follow.

“Ow, ow, ow.”

Walter doesn’t notice the orange soldier until his shadow falls on top of him. It is nice, out here in the middle of the desert.

“You,” Grif says, tilting his head. “You’re the dude. From before.”

No one ever seems to remember Walter Henderson.

But Walter Henderson is used to that. “Walter,” he says, nodding.

“You gotta shoot me?” Grif asks him. His own rifle is still attached to his back.

Walter just watches him for a moment. “Nah,” he finally answers.

“So what are you gonna do?”

“I dunno.”

Story of their lives.

Grif crosses his arms, staring down at him. “You know, Temple said your life sucked _before_ you joined him, but I’d argue your life still sucks.”

Walter sighs. With the lack of a functional kneecap and all that, it is hard to argue against it. “Yeah…”

With a surprising elegance, Grif fishes out a cigarette from a pocket in his armor and lights it. “So maybe sometimes you just gotta deal with life sucking and not go on a murderous spree.” In a quick movement, he lifts his helmet enough to shove the cigarette inside.

A neat trick, Walter decides. “But we still hate the UNSC, right?” he asks.

“Yeah. Fuck those guys.” Grif exhales the smoke through the vents in his visor, blowing it straight in Walter’s face. “Well, have a nice life!”

“Thanks, dude,” Walter says and watches him leave. He can’t really complain about the fact that they don’t bring him along since he had tried to shoot them and all that. At least in theory. And Walter is just very happy that the orange guy hadn’t killed him in return.

It does, however, suck that there are no ships left for Walter to escape the shithole of a planet.

But that’s just Walter Henderson’s luck, really.

**Author's Note:**

> A thing that happened:  
> Ria: "Hazk, your birthday is coming up, I will grant you anything your heart might desire."  
> Hazk: "A Walter Henderson fic."  
> Ria: -_-
> 
> BUT I SHALL GIVE WHAT WAS ASKED! And I have done my best. And it wasn't easy. It really wasn't. But if anything, I have at least spread the word of Walter Henderson.
> 
> I hope you have the best birthday, hazk. Miss ya. love ya.
> 
> As always: English isn't my native language and you can find me as riathedreamer on tubmlr and twitter.


End file.
